Labyrinth
by C. A. Anansi
Summary: Patryn Runner Othello seeks to pass through the final gate. Mass adventures ensue. [NEWLY CONDENSED INTO A SINGLE STORY]
1. Chapter 1

Labyrinth: Boots

Othello was bound to this place, a prisoner for a crime whose perpetrators were long dead. He was a Patryn. The runes enmeshing his body glowed faintly as he stood over the body of his foe, a chaodyn, its carapace black and slick with its own blood. Othello stumbled out of the cave, several long gashes in his tanned arms bearing witness to the terrible fight. The fight had been so ferocious that a weird, black and red misture of his blood and the chaodyn's dripped from his short red hair. He quickly tore free several rags from the bundle in his light pack, binding them over the wounds, for blood attracted the chaodyn- and others- faster than anything else. A rune-marked saber dangled from his pack, it's blade blackened in order to prevent the sun's rays reflecting off the blade. His boots had long since worn through, and not wanting to stop long enough to make a new pair, Othello had just continued walking, trekking through the hell of the Labyrinth- and thusly he continued now.

…………………

Othello drew his saber from his pack. He could smell the smoke from a nearby group campfires. Assuming they were Squatters, he approached. It had been two days since the battle with the chaodyn in the cave, and he knew he would need shoes, as he would soon enter the desert portion of the world. He was loath to approach the Squatters, they weren't known for their overt friendliness (who was, in this hell of a place), but it was either that or make his own, and the Labyrinth did not deal kindly with those who wasted their time. He twirled the saber determinedly, and marched down from the trees to approach the Squatter's camp.

In the world of the Labyrinth, there were two classes of the Patryn- the Squatters, those who chose to remain in one place, and the Runners, those who chose to spend their lives racing ever onward for the the Gate, the sole exit from that malevolent place. Othello was a Runner, and he'd long since learned to trust the runes. You didn't get to be twenty-seven gates old by ignoring warning signs. The warning sigla in his arms burned, and he knew something was amiss here. But he needed the boots, so he lit up the sigla and prepared for a fight.

The camp was a fairly large one, capable of holding at least a score of Squatters. Its huts were tough and tall, rounded to let precipitation fall free. It was also empty, and that wasn't good. Intending to get the boots and leave as quickly as possible, Othello strode into the largest of the huts, rune-saber held ahead of him. Instead what he got was pulled inside the hut, disarmed, and thrown to the ground in a whirl of crimson runes. A mace fell heavily toward his face but was stopped suddenly. Othello looked about him cautiously. In the hut was packed a score and a half of Squatters. The leader, a tall man with grey hair (a crown of achievement in a place where life-expectancy was age thirty), was conversing rapidly with the man with the mace. They looked down at Othello, whose runes were glowing like octagonal stars. "Who are you?"

"Othello." The Patryn stood slowly, reaching a hand out for his saber. "And I'll just be going now." He turned toward the door, his calloused feet bleeding slightly into the dirt.

"Wait!" A woman rushed forward, her hair cut short for convenience. She caught his hand. "Father, look at his feet!"

The grey-haired man groaned. "I apologize for our rudeness, Othello, we've been plagued by increasingly frequent attacks by changelings who take the form of Patryns, and many have been lost. When we saw you coming, we set a trap."

"Whatever." Othello attempted to jerk free of the woman's grasp, but her hands were very strong.

"What was it you needed?"

"A pair of boots." Othello glanced down at his arms. The sigla no longer burned, so he was in no danger as of now. "What do these changelings look like when they come?"

"Patryns, lost, hungry, but never wounded. When they attack, though, they become like insects of terrible size, extremely fast, extremely hard to kill."

"I'll keep an eye out for any when I leave. Now about those boots."

…………………

The chief of the Squatter village came out with a brown rucksack. "Here's some rations for your journey. The Gate is supposedly just across that desert, but none of ours have ever come back or, for that matter, given any signal that they didn't die. Good luck."

Glad to be free of that village, Othello took the pack and left, his feet far more comfortable in the boots. He'd just crested the ledge overlooking the village when he took a look back. The chief's daughter, Zephyr, was racing across the brown grass. She'd become quite enamored of him when he'd told the story of the battle with the chaodyn in the cave. She wasn't racing towards him though. He looked after her, curious, and saw- himself.

"Sh-" The Patryn lit up the sigla and tore off toward the girl, preparing a devastating spell between his hands. "Get away from him! It's a changeling! Get away! Zephyr!"

The girl stopped and turned. Behind her, the changeling Othello fell away as a gigantic insect, like a huge preying mantis rose from the dirt. The real Othello leapt clear over Zephyr, kicking her back and out of the line of fire as he unleashed his spell.

The air rippled as the moisture in it was drawn out and frozen. The newly formed shards ripped through the changeling's front, swirling and dipping, tearing huge rents in the mantis' carapace. The insect roared and charged, green ichor dripping from it's torn face. Othello scooped up Zephyr in one arm and dodged beneath the swinging claws of the changeling, releasing the ice and letting it scatter into the air again as moisture. The changeling blew past the two Patryns, slow to realize it's prey had evaded it.

Othello clenched his fists and put his knuckles together. The ice once more formed, this time a storm of flying needles that slipped under the changeling's wing covers and tore into its delicate back. The huge mantis stumbled, but managed to turn around, lining itself up for a charge. Othello released the ice needles, but this time caused the moisture to spread through the veins of the mantis, flowing through its whole body. Zephyr, still panting from being kicked, threw a handful of sand in the air, causing it to become bits of very sharp glass. A sudden wind caught them up and whipped them into the changeling's eyes, but it simply roared and charged once more. Othello smiled. His trap was ready. He brandished his saber, leaping forward to catch the swinging mantis claw on his blade. Inside the demon, the water Othello had placed separated into hydrogen and oxygen. The changeling caught him in the chest with a claw. The Patryn was thrown twenty feet into the air, his chest ringing from the impact. He clenched and crossed his hands. A spark leapt up in the hydrogen present in the mantis's veins.

The mantis bore down on Zephyr, who staggered back, tripping over a rock. The claws rose- and the changeling exploded, a blaze of white fire erupting from its chest. Othello, still flying through the air, managed to cause the fire to consume the demon utterly just before he hit the ground and had the breath knocked out of him. The other Patryns from the village came rushing over the ledge, spears and swords drawn, all ready to slay the changeling that had tried to eat the chief's daughter. All they found was Zephyr, dripping with green ichor, kissing the stranger who had just come into their village to get a pair of boots. The smouldering black exoskeleton of the changeling crumbled to dust as they watched. Zephyr and Othello finally broke apart, Othello with a slightly sour expression on his usually blank face.

Zephyr saw this and grinned, "Am I really that bad at kissing?"

"No. You just have bug guts all over your face." Othello got up, a little winded from the blow to his chest.

The chief approached, giving Zephyr a reproachful look. "Thank you , Othello, for saving my daughter's life."

"Where were you and the rest of your tribe while we were fighting that thing?"

"Across the village, fighting another that looked, believe it or not, like you, before we attacked it." Othello then noticed that the chief's long sword was dripping with ichor.

"Surprising it would pick you, isn't it Othello?"

Othello and Zephyr looked at each other and laughed. "Can we get something to eat?"

He wiped his sword in the grass and hung it from his pack again.

The chief nodded, and they all went back to the village.

…………………

Othello finally left the village, this time, he hoped, for good. Zephyr was a nice, very attractive young woman, but he had no time for love. He had a chaodyn, changeling, and dragon infested desert to cross. His boots crunched in the dirt, his saber swung idly from his pack. His short red hair was brushed back, and on his face he wore a black skull-mask. His sigla were cool and dark, so he knew there weren't any changeling within twenty miles of the village.

There was a shout from behind him. Dressed in similar clothes to Othello, bearing a pack and a bow, and wearing a white skull-mask, Zephyr came dashing up to his side. "I-"

"Oh no you don't. I came to your village for a pair of boots, not a mate." Othello lengthened his stride, forcing Zephyr to run to catch up.

"I'm staying with you. I don't need to be your mate. Strength in numbers, remember?"

"Yes, and your telling me you don't intend to try and make me your mate after we get through the Gate?" Othello, grumbling, hiked his pack higher on his shoulder.

"No…" Zephyr shrugged.

"Whatever. But you'd better be able to take care of yourself. No one gets out of the Labyrinth on the back of another. Not on mine, anyway."

"Sure." Zephyr shrugged again.

"Then let's go." The two Patryns drew their blades and began marching into the desert, beyond which was the Final Gate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** If the Boots Fit

**Author:** Nikolae Santiago

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Action, Adventure

**Spoilers:** Various mentions of Labyrinthine fauna, some from the story, some not.

**Warnings:** None really. Some violence.

**Pairings:** Othello x Zephyr

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I'm not trying to steal their series. The only part of Death Gate I own is the enjoyment I derive from writing in Weis's universe.

**Summary:** Othello must decide whether to break the Patryn law of practicality or leave a friend to die.

**Author's Note:** The fifth fanfic of the Death Gate! I urge you all to post!

……………………………..

Labyrinth: Semper Practicalis

The sands were hot and the air was dry. The Patryns' noses were parched from the lack of water, and their mouths were like cotton. But they were carrying plenty of water. Zephyr, her boots punching into the sand hard to help establish her footing, asked, "Why can't we drink?" Her short black hair was spiked and a little crusty from the sand sticking to her scalp. Her usually well-defined figure was hidden beneath a sand-cloak to help disguise her as a male, since the Erikai a rather vicious species of sand-dragon sought women almost exclusively.

The other Patryn, his red hair just as short as hers, also hidden beneath a cloak, said after a long time, "The Delrak beetles." The beetles he spoke of were creatures specially created by the Labyrinth to kill the desert Runners. They sought water, because where there was water, there was a thirsty Patryn. Othello shifted the pack on his shoulder. "We cannot open these casks until we reach rock."

Zephyr smiled briefly, the expression fading when her parched lips cracked and bled slightly. "My Othello, always practical." She stepped a little closer to him.

"I'm not yours, Zephyr, and if you keep thinking like that, neither of us will reach the Gate, cause you will do something stupid that will compromise our position here, and I will be forced to kill you. The smell of blood will then attract everything within a mile, and I will then die." Othello said this all without the faintest change in vocal pitch or expression.

Zephyr stepped away from him. "_Always_ practical." She hunched her shoulders and continued to walk in silence, nursing her cracked lips.

It's not that he wasn't interested in Zephyr, it's just that he knew what happened to lovers out here, especially in the final stretch to the Gate. One's survival becomes the most important thing ever, and there may have come a time when Othello had to chose between his life and hers. Othello rolled his neck to crack it. If that time came, he was going to make it out of the Labyrinth alone.

They reached rock by nightfall, and Othello finally allowed them to drink. Three mouthfuls only. He didn't know how long the desert lasted. Zephyr curled up by the spine of rock farthest away from Othello and closed her eyes, tucking her chin to her breast. Othello knew she was angry. A small part of him felt remorse, but he knew it was a necessary evil. Still, he knew what it was he wanted even more than he wanted the girl, and he crossed his legs with his saber in his lap, and slept with one eye open.

…………………

The next morning, Othello awoke before Zephyr, packing up their supplies. She was still curled up by the water casks, and appeared to a have finally fallen asleep. After he packed up their meager supplies, he strode over to toe the girl awake, pulling his skull-mask up so as not to frighten her in the semi-sleep following such a rude awakening. A frightened Patryn was a dangerous thing. The girl didn't move. "Zephyr." He poked her again. "Get up." She didn't move. Othello finally dropped to his knees and rolled her over. Her eyes were wide open and unblinking, their pale blue disks staring sightlessly into his face. Her skin was pale, her runes not glowing with their usual life. Othello let her fall to the floor. Unless he was very much mistaken, she was dead.

His runes were alight and blazing, closest to his left hand, which held her shoulder nervelessly. He moved his hand, and then he saw it. A six-pointed star, just above her breast. It was carved into the skin, and was still bleeding. It was the mark of a Shadowdragon.

Othello swore. He knew about this particular type of beast. It was a dragon that fed off the souls of its victims, putting both the victim and anyone around them to sleep, then sucking out the victims soul and carrying it off to torment and devour at its leisure. And when cornered, a Shadowdragon could kill even the most dedicated of would-be rescuers.

Othello dropped the packs. He knew that according to the law of Patryn practicality, he should leave Zephyr's body and continue across the desert while the Shadowdragon was distracted. He knew it, and he was seconds from letting her fall to the rock of their shelter before he remembered. Zephyr had been the one who had gotten him the boots. She'd given up her relatively peaceful life in the Squatter camp to travel with him. And deny it though he might, he'd enjoyed those days of travel and companionship. He had to go after her. Picking up her body, he left both packs and water casks behind, stopping merely to pick up his saber and Zephyr's sword. He activated a tracking spell and stepped out into the sun. He was going to find the dragon that did this, kill it, and be going on his way.

…………………

He was racing across the desert, Zephyr on his back, his legs burning from exertion, but he wouldn't stop. So far nothing had challenged the Patryn, and he was confident. But right as he thought that, he heard the beat of massive wings. "Cursed Sartan!" He groaned in frustration. He'd forgotten to cover Zephyr's body, and an Erikai had spied her, thinking that she'd make a tasty treat. "Pain in my a-" BOOOM! The ground shook and Othello was thrown from his feet, Zephyr's body flying from his grasp. The dragon released another fireball, and it was all Othello could do to deflect it.

The dragon landed, hopped over, and picked up Zephyr in its foreclaws. "Put the girl down, or you and I are gonna have a major disagreement." The Patryn readied a blizzard spell, knowing sand-dragons hated them. The dragon turned its head sideways, giving a harsh shriek, and released another fireball. "Fine. I guess we'll have to do this the hard way. Stupid b-" BOOOM! Othello barely dodged the fireball in time. "Hey! I was talking, you jerk!" He clapped his palms together, completing the circle, and opened up with a localized blizzard spell that encased the dragon's head. He leapt out of the way as the dragon thrashed and shrieked- _and dropped Zephyr's body_. The Patryn darted in, snatched up the girl, and got struck hard in the face with the beast's tail. He fell to the sand again, this time clutching Zephyr's body tightly.

The dragon, having unraveled the spell surrounding its face bent low, its snout almost touching Othello's face. It growled menacingly… and Othello smiled, shoving upward with another web of runes, unleashing his spell. "Fimbul Winter!"

…………………

Othello continued on his way, Zephyr's body and the two swords slung over his shoulder. He looked back. A column of ice and steam still billowed into the sky at speeds up to three hundred miles per hour, and a foolish Erikai's blood was being frozen and whipped around in the confines of the shield. Its screams could still be heard, even five miles away. The Patryn laughed. It was his favorite high level spell, a sort of ice hurricane.

…………………

In a lair not far from where the Erikai was still dying, a huge beast, seemingly made of the shadows themselves, reclined lazily on a huge slab of stone outside its cave. The Shadowdragon really loved tormenting souls such as this, young, spirited and hopeful. And, as he realized, a virgin in both mind and body. Too bad he didn't have the body. He would have enjoyed having a minion change that, enjoyed feeding off the lust and fear. But ah, well. One couldn't have everything in life. The dragon flicked out a claw lazily and dragged the soul of the girl over to him. She was shaking, and trying, with feeble burst of light, to use magic. He snickered. She didn't realize she was dead already. He drove a long claw into her head, and the Patryn shook wildly, screaming, as she saw the most terrifying nightmare yet. The dragon sucked in the fear and pain. It really was like a fine wine. The longer you let it exist, the finer it- BOOOM! The dragon toppled off of his rock, spluttering in surprise. He looked up into the face of a tall Patryn with red hair and a black skull-mask on. The Patryn leveled his hand at the dragon. _"Fimbul Winter!"_

…………………

Othello laid Zephyr down onto the rock of the shelter where they had stayed the night before. Weaving a net of runes, he coaxed the soul back into the body, There was an unusually loud gasp, Zephyr's eyes opened wide, and with an audible thump, her heart started beating again. Now that the body lived, Othello sent his magic winging through her body, repairing any damage that might have occurred due to being dead for several hours. Zephyr coughed and spat blood, arching her back. Then she was still. Othello stepped back. Zephyr groaned and rolled over, pushing herself to her feet. She immediately fell against the wall, still unsteady on her feet. "Oth- Othello? What in the name of-"

The red-haired Patryn turned away. "I couldn't just leave you there. You-" He cut himself off. "We have to go."

Zephyr picked up her pack shakily, taking her sword from Othello. The male Patryn caught her arm, then shouldered his pack and both the water casks. "We've got to leave." They began to walk toward the entrance to their shelter. A massive explosion occurred, throwing the Patryns to the ground. Othello barely managed to prevent the water casks from cracking. "Cursed Sar-"

The huge, triangular head of the Shadowdragon poked inside, slashed in many places and dripping with black ichor. "Surprise, my pretties."

…………………


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** From Dust to Dust

**Author:** Anansi

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Action, Adventure

**Spoilers:** Various mentions of Labyrinthine fauna, some from the story, some not.

**Warnings:** None really. Some violence.

**Pairings:** Othello x Zephyr

**Disclaimer:** Obviously I'm not trying to steal their series. The only part of Death Gate I own is the enjoyment I derive from writing in Weis's/Hickman's universe. The characters I make up, Othello, Zephyr, and now Blanc, are mine, and the spells I use are my own.

**Summary:** Othello and Zephyr meet a creation of the Labyrinth gone horribly wrong.

**Author's Note:** The seventh fanfic of the Death Gate! I urge you all to post! Welcome to the new author in this section- DarkAnimus. Glad to see someone new taking an interest in one of Weis's finest creations. Also, a word to you all, I'm changing my screen name to Anansi. It has a sentimental meaning to me, so that's why I'm changing it.

……………………………………………………

From Dust to Dust

The shadowdragon leered over them with an expression akin to that of a smug cat about to catch a mouse. Othello rolled quickly, springing to his knees. He wove runes quickly, completed the circle, and lauched a huge column of fire at the dragon's head. The dragon smiled and was suddenly made of nothing more than wisps of black smoke. The spell passed through it harmlessly, rocketing into the sky. Othello grimaced, then tried a whirlwind spell, again to no effect. The dragon solidified, swung a heavy claw, and backhanded the Patryn into the sky.

Othello yelled in pain and anger as the ground fell away from him, the huge cluster of rocks he'd taken shelter in becoming a speck as he reached the apex of his flight, then rushing back up to meet him.

Zephyr looked up in horror, then dove out of the way as Othello, clutching an impact shield about him, plummeted towards her, hitting the rock so fast, it shattered, and the Patryn disappeared in a cloud of splintered stone and superheated sand. The dragon laughed, scooping up Zephyr in one claw and holding her up to eye level. "Not as tough as he looks, is he?"

Zephyr clapped the runes together. The outcropping of rock behind the dragon broke loose and rocketed at its huge black head. The dragon dissipated, and the rock simply passed through the back of its skull and came out its forehead, flying past Zephyr, who'd been dropped when the dragon phased. "That was very rude. I should punish you for that." Its silly, falsely high voice suddenly became deep and demonic. The dragon lifted itself from the ground with its huge black wings, then lunged forward, catching Zephyr between its snout and the wall and blasting through stone. Zephyr fell to the sand, conjuring a sandstorm, but the dragon simply flew through it. It pounced upon her, bent its head low, and with one claw, began tracing a six pointed star into her chest.

Zephyr writhed and struggled to break free as her soul began to separate from her body.

Othello staggered to his feet, grabbing his saber. He looked up. He was in a very, very deep hole. He was just finishing his levitation spell when a black shape hurtled overhead. The Patryn clambered from the hole in time to see a humanoid figure, dressed in black, hit the shadowdragon with his arm. This was remarkable, because whoever he was, they actually hit the dragon. There was a flash of green, and the beast slammed into the dirt. Othello rushed over to help, but the black-garbed figure whirled and kicked him in the chest. For the second time that day, Othello found himself flying through the air. "I'm not attacking y-" He cut himself off abrubtly as his body hit the rock again.

Zephyr raced back to the rock to help Othello. She'd just reached him when he said, "L-look!" She spun just in time to see the black-garbed figure pick up the dragon by its throat, ignoring the slashing claws that were desperately trying to draw a six-pointed star on the assailant's chest. The black-garbed figure pulled something little and green from his pocket, shoved it in the dragon's mouth, and put his arm over his masked face, and turned away. There was a blinding flash of white light that left Zephyr and Othello rubbing at their eyes.

When they opened them again, the black-garbed figure was crouching right by them, masked head cocked to the side. Othello looked past him. The dragon was gone. "Wh-who are you?"

The black-garbed figure took off his mask. He had no face. His head was a blank oval. Then his mouth opened, revealing slightly pointed, pearly white teeth. Othello frowned. How could his mouth open if he didn't have a mouth?

"I am Blanc." The creature said, wrinkling his nose and gazing at the two Patryns with eyes the color of drying blood. His ears twitched as they came into existence, and hair the color of sand flew about in the slight desert wind. "Who are you?"

"I am Othello, and this," the Patryn got to his feet, "is Zephyr." He kept rigid eye contact with Blanc. "I suppose I should ask you: What are you?"

"I am the killer of all things magic." Blanc got up. "And you, Patryn, are magic."

Othello got to his feet. "Why does all of this happen to me?" He wove the runes.

……………………………………………………


End file.
